


Brave New World

by LeathernLaces



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Babysitter Daryl, Beth Greene Lives, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Cults, Disturbing Themes, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fighting, Fix-It, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Gore, Graphic Description, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Original Character(s), Multi POV, Mutant Powers, Necromancy, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Beth Greene, POV Daryl Dixon, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Omniscient, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pryomancy, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Self Harm, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Superpowers, Tags May Change, Telekinesis, Torture, Trauma, dark themes, powers, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24415975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeathernLaces/pseuds/LeathernLaces
Summary: Things are simple now. He sleeps, eats, and hunts. His constant companions are his dog and his brothers ghost. That is, until Daryl finds a girl in the river. Little does he know that saving one life will impact his, and countless others in ways he can't even begin to comprehend.
Relationships: Beth Greene & Original Female Character(s), Beth Greene & Original Male Character(s), Daryl Dixon & Beth Greene, Daryl Dixon & Original Female Character(s), Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene, Ezekiel/Carol Peletier, Rick Grimes/Michonne
Comments: 18
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! 
> 
> I hope you're keeping safe and looking after yourselves! It's a crazy damn world we live in now. I know some of you might be hoping for a WDWG related update and I promise you - it's in the works. This idea has been haunting me for months and now that I'm stuck a home due to injury and a whole sticking pandemic. I had to finally write it out. 
> 
> My plans for this is for it to be it's own series. It's not a one shot or drabble. This should, and hopefully will be a multi-chapter trip. You may recognize some of the OCs from Way Down We Go but this fic is completely separate from my other series. 
> 
> This takes place in the Walking Dead universe, there is a zombie apocalypse but I went AU with it. Damn it, I went AR with it. I brought back the dead, I gave people powers. I promise I explain all of it as we go! It's a departure from WDWG. It gets crazy and I so hope it captures your attention the way it's captured mine. 
> 
> Like everything I write this work is unbeta'd and any mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Stay safe, be well, and enjoy a Brave New World!

“Can’t sleep again, baby brother?” 

The voice is jarring but it isn’t startling. Not anymore anyways, wasn’t like the first time he’d heard it. First time Merle’s voice was kicking around his head after he’d inserted the knife into his older brothers skull. It wasn’t the Merle in his head. The one that had haunted him as a child, the voice taken on by all of his fears and insecurities. This was a different type of haunting.

A more literal one. 

Daryl grunts, rolling onto his side. On the floor Dog looks up, giving him a tired once over before resting his head back down onto the tent floor. Merle didn’t even bother Dog anymore. He wasn’t sure if Dog could see Merle like he could -but sure as shit the creature knew something was there. Overtime, he got used to it. Didn’t growl, didn’t hardly even pay much notice. “I fuckin’ was until you opened your trap.” He hisses between gritted teeth. Merle chuckles from his spot in the corner.

It’s bullshit. He knows it, hence the laughing. “Dreams right? Ain’t you grown out of that shit yet?” Daryl growls because Dog doesn’t. For all the good it does. Merle doesn’t actually give a shit so Daryl doesn’t actually answer. They both know it’s true anyways. No need for verbal confirmation. 

It’s been dreams for years. Ever since he was a baby. They changed sure, but the contents were generally the same. A whole lot of people he failed to save. Everybody. Merle, Rick, Glenn, Sasha, Abraham, it was a long fucking list if he was honest to himself. They didn’t all wake him up and they varied in severity. Some were worse. 

Beth’s for example. Rick’s too. Tonight it was Beth’s turn again. 

“Least you aren’t hard this time,” Merle observes pulls a knife out of his pocket, carefully running the edge of the blade underneath his fingertips. Why he needs to clean under there is beyond him. Force of habit maybe. Wasn’t like Merle got his hands - no, hand dirty anymore. “that shit’s embarrassing.” A couple years ago he would have agreed. Now it was just annoying and weird. Much like Merle’s presence. 

“Don’t you got somewhere else to be?” It’s a rhetorical question. One which Merle finds pretty damn amusing. Daryl can’t help but wonder where this amazing sense of humor had been while his brother had been alive. 

“Who the fuck is gonna wanna see ol’ Merle? Anybody who knows me from your crew is dead, boy.” 

It gives him pause for thought. The remark stings a little, too. “I didn’t wanna see you.” 

“Sure you fuckin’ did. You brought me back.”

“I didn’t.” 

There’s no point arguing beyond that though because they both know it’s true, whether or not he wanted to admit it. He hadn’t done it on purpose, probably didn’t even realize it at the time. Merle was there because of him whether he liked it or not. 

There’s was other battles to pick, anyways. 

“Michonne’s alive. Carol’s a queen or some shit now, Hershel's still kicking.” His fingers run along the seams of the tent. “Maggie is too.” Well, at least he hoped. She fuckin’ went off on her own - took the kid. 

Merle runs his thumb over the blade of the knife. He can see it in the moonlight streaming through the little screen window. No blood. There's never blood. “Yeah - I’m sure they’d love to see me.” Daryl can just hear the eye-roll in his brothers voice. “Y’know I never understood why you didn’t stay with Saumrai Queen and help raise up Rick’s kids. You loved that little girl - wasn’t like Rick was there to do it.” 

He's used to Merle running his mouth and speaking out of turn but every once and awhile, he found a button to push. Knowingly or not. Daryl grabs a pair of balled up socks and chucks them across the tent. There’s a sound of fabric hitting fabric, and a rustle of feet as Dog retrieves the pair of socks. Merle’s gone. He’d taken the hint.

Good. 

Still, he knew the quiet wasn’t going to last. It never did and Merle never stayed gone for long. That last comment had gotten to him though. No point in trying to sleep now, he’d just lay there on the roll until the sun came out. 

His body groans out in protest as he pushes himself up, pulling the crossbow to his side. Dog is up and alert, tail wagging. This is another one of their rituals. Moonlight hunting, be it walkers or game. Beat laying there doing nothing and they’d always need food and supplies. 

—-

There was something calming about the forest at night. He’s with his own kind when he’s out at night. The other hunters. Be it foxes, owls, coyotes. The predators take advantage of the darkness. It was more dangerous, sure. If he strayed from his boundaries. He didn’t push much out of his own little domain in the dark. Only walked paths he knew, checked the traps close to him. Better that way since he was on his own now. Dog could only do so much and Merle - well Merle was somehow more useless in death than he had been in life.

He’d been on snare number three when Dog’s head snaps up. It’s sudden enough to grab his attention. The brush doesn’t move but Merle emerges all the same. “There’s a fuckin’ girl in the river.” Daryl blinks dumbly. 

“The fuck you mean there’s a girl in the riv-” But Merle’s gone before he can finish the question, and Dog tears through the bush after him. They’re close enough that he would’ve heard splashing, any disturbance beyond rushing water. They hadn’t heard shit. 

Snare abandoned, he follows. Merle’s standing on the bank and Dog is bouncing on the shoreline. This section of the river had a break in the trees, allowing light to shine through. It would have been so easy to shrug it off. Merle could’ve been screw with him, or it could be a log. A walker maybe - he’d clear those out in the morning. Sure enough there was a noticeable mass in the water. Still aside from the push and pull of the current. 

It’s automatic, the way he rushes into the water. The cold shocks him awake - in case he hadn’t been aware enough he sure as fuck was now. Dog was beside him, pressing through. It was a girl, floating on her back eyes closed. Looked pale as shit, he couldn’t tell if she was dead or not. She didn’t look it - like she was rotting. That didn’t mean she wasn’t. So he was careful as he pulled her to shore. 

“What the fuck are you gonna do now?” Wasn’t that the question of the day. She wasn’t breathing. Merle was hovering over her, inspecting the body. “Don’t think she’s dead. Will be if you don’t do something.” 

He doesn’t ask. He had once. The only response he’d gotten was _‘dead recognizes dead’_ or some shit like that. Point was Merle knew. What the fuck was he supposed to do, though? 

She wasn’t breathing and she felt cold but goddammit. Dead recognized dead.

“She bites me and I’m blaming you.” He mutters as he leans over. 

“She’s gonna if you don’t hurry up.” 

He’d never done it before, he’d seen it done. Read about it in a few old dusty first aid manuals. God only knew if it was what he was supposed to do but he wasn’t sure what other options they had. He was hours away from any of the encampments. Merle wasn’t fucking corporeal and Dog lacked disposable thumbs. 

Underneath the mound of sopping wet clothing she feels so small. He’s terrified he’ll crack her ribs, puncture her lungs or something. That he’s pressing too hard, blowing too hard. That he’s doing more harm than good but Merle’s standing there watching intently. Merle’s not so fucked he’d let him preform CPR on a dead girl, Daryl thinks somewhere between each compression. Feels like he’s been at it forever, a whole ass lifetime before she stirs. He moves quick, rolling her on her side to keep her from choking on everything that’s coming up. Dead wouldn’t choke, would it? Daryl looks over his shoulder to his brother. Who, he couldn’t help but notice, had a smug expression pasted on his face. “Dead recognizes dead.” Merle says, crossing his arms over top of his chest. “ Told you she ain’t it.” 

Dog sniffs at the girl curiously, nudging her arm with his nose. She’s not sputtering anymore and she’s still breathing. Deep and ragged breathes. “What do I do with her now?” He’s not sure why he asked because Merle’s gone again. He couldn’t just fuckin’ leave her. Who knew how long she’d been in the water. What if she was brain damaged or some shit? 

There aren’t any options that he sees in front of him as he gathers the girl up in his arms. Take her back to camp, check what he can without invading her privacy to look for bites. Bind her up, warm her up with a fire. Take her to Michonne or Carol in the morning. Get her gone, this wasn’t any place for kids. She looked young enough to be one. He wasn’t a goddamn babysitter. Last time he’d been on his own with someone- 

Daryl pushes it away. Harder than he tries to push Merle or any of the others. He can deal with the dead but the thoughts. The voice in his head telling him to look down, because wasn’t this how he carried Beth? 

All these years and still his mind would conjure up her name at a moments notice. He can’t be distracted by it now. She’s alive but just barely from the looks of it. He’d got her this far - couldn’t exactly let her die now. Not if he could help it anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

So she was alive. That was good, wasn’t it? It had been the goal, pulling her from the river. “You good?” He can hear himself ask, but he’s not really sure why he does. Her eyes don’t open and her mouth does move once the coughing stops, but whatever she’s saying isn’t much more than an incoherent whisper. Dog sits beside her with his head cocked to the side, watching her intently.

Merle’s back hovering behind him. He doesn’t need to speak for him to know he’s there. “Should check to see if she’s bit.” Merle suggests, voice thinly laced with concern. Daryl scowls. She’s completely fucking clothed, even got gloves on her hands.

“How the fuck do I do that?” He growls back. She’s young, maybe a teenager at the most. That was besides the point. He didn’t want to take off his own goddamn clothes, never mind someone elses. Just feels wrong. Still there’s no denying that Merle has a point. Just because she’s alive now doesn’t mean she will be in a few hours, or minutes. Her clothes are dark and they’re soaked through – the fire hadn’t worked it’s magic yet and wouldn’t for some time. He wouldn’t be able to see any blood.

_ Fuck this.  _ He reaches out so carefully, his fingers barely brush the cuff of her jacket before he whips his hand back like he’d been bit. Didn’t feel right at all. Merle’s muttering something that sounds an awful lot like ‘pussy’ back over by the fire.

He’ll just check her arms, maybe her legs too – but not anything above the knee. No. He’d just tie her up in case she had a bite somewhere else, in case she turned. Already felt fucking invasive enough doing what he was.

He makes careful work out of it, moving the layers of wet fabric up to her elbows. There’s about three layers of cloth and they don’t wanna do more than that, and he wasn’t gonna cut them.

  
  


Fingers moved over her cool skin. Small scars here and there, freckles. Not much else. Daryl let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. One arm down, one to go.

It was another few minutes to maneuver the fabric up her other arm. He was careful as he could, didn’t wanna jolt her from whatever place of unconsciousness she currently resided. The cloth was barely up past her wrist before Merle appeared in front of him, jabbing a finger at the girls arm. “The fuck is that?” Daryl resisted the urge to flip him off, or cuss him out. Just moved the fabric a little more. It took about a second before his eyes adjusted and locked on the area of skin Merle was scrutinizing. Black, faded black. Not like a tattoo but ink. Like from a permanent marker or something. From wrist to elbow there was a wing. Hastily drawn, faded, but it was a wing all the same.

His thumb brushed the bottom tip, almost completely faded. A wing. God only knew why that fucking stood out. He was so fucking fixated on that he didn’t even notice the rest.

“Don’t think you need to worry about her changin’, baby bro.” Merle chortles, hand gesturing to her elbow.

Daryl instantly drew his hand back. A scar. A bite. Old, real old. No doubt what it was or what left it. Wasn’t a dog or any other type of animal. He only knew humans to leave those marks. On one hand, that was good. Didn’t have to worry about her ripping his face off in the middle of the night. On the other – that could be a world of bad.

“So what do you think she’s got? Maybe she can shoot lasers outta her eyeballs. Maybe a mind reader. Ain’t seen one of them in awhile. I hope it’s lasers.”

“Will you shut up?” It’s a threatening growl, almost not even words at all. The bite was ages old, probably happened to her as a kid. The turn happened fast as a kid. Judging from the warps in the skin – the fucker had taken a chunk with it. She wasn’t dead. That meant she was something else now.

In that minute, he half wished it’d been a fresh bite.

For a split second he found himself wishing he hadn’t pulled her out of the river. Felt bad about it, too. Like some almighty was judgin’ him for thinking that way but goddammit – he wasn’t prepared to deal with this shit. This was a job for Hershel or Michonne, maybe even Carol. Literally anybody but him.

What if she was dangerous? She was small under the clothes, he could tell. Barely even came up to his chin. But suddenly none of that mattered. Not when she could reach out and pull his beating heart right out of his chest, or tell him to walk into the fire and let it burn. Jesus. She could be anything.

As if sensing the sudden onslaught of anxiety, Merle chimed in once more. “Maybe she’s got something useless like you, y’know shit that doesn’t affect anything.” Maybe, maybe he was right. Maybe she just saw stuff. Fuck even a mind reader wasn’t that bad – so long as she couldn’t influence his at all.

Still that wasn’t as comforting as his brother might have intended. This was out of his wheelhouse. He dealt with the dead, almost exclusively these days. Be it ghosts or walkers. His older brother's half assed attempt at reassurance didn’t do much. He couldn’t load her up on the bike unconscious, too awkward. What if she woke up on the way to the settlement?

He had two options. One only, really. Because he didn’t just kill and she was a kid. He had some old rags in the tent. A couple around her wrists to bind her hands. He wasn’t willing to do anything else. Despite Merle’s insistence that he should probably gag her as well.

Daryl sat opposite the fire, crossbow between his legs and knife in his hands. Dog perched beside the unconcious girl – keeping a watchful eye.

Had he ever found a kid with shit before? Not in recent memory. Not even a teenager. Infection usually set in and the turn came swiftly after. They didn’t really have the bodies – or immune systems to fight

back. Wasn’t like there were hospitals and doctors offices at every turn open and waiting for patients.

Now some people had tells. Actual physical signs to hint at what their abilities might be. It was dark, he wasn’t stripping her to check. Those signs weren’t exactly reliable either. He didn’t know enough about it to even make a guess.

  
  
  
  


\--

He’s not sure how it happens, but eventually the cold and the stress take their toll. He doesn’t realize his mistake until he hears Merle hovering by his ear. “Wake the fuck up, baby brother. Kid’s gone.” God if that doesn’t get him on his feet. “Dog’s gone too.”

Jesus. He should’ve bound her feet. Why the fuck hadn’t he tied her feet up?

At least it’s an easy trail to follow. “You couldn’t tell me when she woke up?” He snarls as he tears through the brush.

“Oh – I’m sorry now you want me around all the time?”

“Dog!” He really didn’t have time for Merle or his shit now.

He’s not sure what he's more worried about. Dog or the girl. Probably Dog, but something in him said he’d go ripping through the forest the same if it had only been the girl. She looked so young, presumed powers or not they were dangerously close to Whisperer territory, and woods weren’t safe at night. Not even in his neck. He couldn’t just leave her out there alone – didn’t need another ghost haunting his ass.

Between the dog and the kid there’s an easy trail for him to follow. She hadn’t tried to hide her path or been the slightest bit careful in her movements. Even in the dim moonlight he could see how frantic and uncoordinated they were. It told a lot. If he’d had the time to stop and think about it he would’ve thought about how she hadn’t been taught to navigate the woods. How to walk or run as quietly as possible or how to cover a trail. That said a lot about her chances if he didn’t go after her.

It’s not long before he finds them. Dog’s got her backed against a tree. “Get away from me!” She’s hissing and snarling blindly, but not lashing out. If anything it looks more like she’s trying to merge herself into the bark that she’s digging her fingers into.

He just clicks his tongue and Dog shuts up, but doesn’t stop the little excited dance he’s doing. This only serves to set off the girl more. Her head snaps to the side and instantly she’s telling him off. “You’ve gotta shut up!” Daryl barks as he advances. He does the best he can to keep the woods clear but there’s always the odd walker or small herd that eventually sneaks through. Walkers wasn’t even his chief concern now. There were other things out there far worse that would come running at the sound all the same as the dead would.

“Look – I’m not gonna hurt you.” He lowers the crossbow and steps a few steps forward, a hand hovering cautiously above the knife on his belt.

She either doesn’t hear him – a possibility which he doubts, or she doesn’t care. “What was I doing at that camp? What did you do to me? Were you on the bridge?” It’s a flurry of rapid fire questions that all come out in one hurried breathe, Daryl hardly has time to process them.

He persists as Dog darts back and forth. “I found you in the river. Saved your ass, you almost drowned.” and there’s a pause. He can hear the sharp intake of breath.

“You? Saved me?” She still sounds scared, pissed even. Was that disbelief?

“Yeah, I saved you.”

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Merle. “Baby brother...” His voice sounds so far off.

“Stay back!”

“Just calm down!” It’s an unintentional yell which he realizes too late, is unlikely to have any positive effects on the girl.

“Daryl!”

Jesus Christ. “What?” He whirls to face Merle. Who isn’t even looking at him, or the girl. “You feel that?”

“Feel what?”

Dog stills at his feet now, too. Ears back and eyes fixed on the darkness. There’s nothing except for Merle. No sixth senses or alarm bells going off in his head. Feels like he’s staring into the quiet for an eternity before Dog growls. That does it, sets something off. Gets the hair raising on the back of his neck and that queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Something’s talking to him now. A gut feeling telling him to back off. It's a habit that brings the crossbow up – even if past experiences said the crossbow wasn’t going to do shit for whatever was setting this off.

Everything happens all at once. “What the fuck’s out - “Dog loses his shit. Barking, snapping, snarling. Alternating between fearful and defensive. He doesn’t get a chance to do anything about it. There’s a crack radiating up the side of his skull, a blow causes him to stagger. Fuck if it doesn’t almost throw him off his footing. Suddenly the stars he’s seeing aren’t the ones dotting the sky above him, they’re invading his vision. Dog and Merle bolt and he’s left with the girl. The girl who was wielding a rock as if her life depended on it. “What the fuck was that for?” His fingers dab at the epicenter of the pain and he can feel the slick, the wetness.

She lunges at him again and he tries to grab her arm. He tries. But the hand wielding the rock strikes him in the gut. This blow staggers him. It feels like he’s been sucker punched with a rock, sure. But by someone triple the size of his actual assailant. _Great_ , he can’t help but think bitterly. She’s a strong one.

There’s a small yelp in the distance and he can hear rustling now. He barely has the breath back in his lungs and he’s expecting her to strike him again. Instead her head snaps to the side and he can see her eyes clearly for what feels like the first time. They’re hazy white. Like her skull got filled up with thick smoke. He’s not sure how, or why, he hadn’t noticed it before. In his defense prior to her bolting off she had been unconscious. 

Dog comes tearing through the bushes and he can see what follows. What set him off, what set the  _ feeling _ off. They’re coming through the trees one after another. Dead. Not walkers, ghosts. A dozen of them – maybe more. It was hard to tell the way they all seemed to shimmer in the light, like a trick of the eye. Not quite there one second, but oh so real the next. The girl to his side was still wielding the rock only now she looks more confused than anything. She can’t see them, that’s plain. But she can hear something the same as him. There’s footsteps. One set, moving quick. Ghosts didn't do that shit. 

The ghosts surge forward and he and the girl go flying backwards. She lands somewhere to his right, quiet on impact. One of the figures breaks from the group and hovers over her. Daryl himself has the misfortune to collide with a tree trunk. His arms shake in protest as he raises the crossbow up. He can’t see them but he knows they’re there. Somewhere in the group of bodies advancing, there’s a person. A living breathing person about to meet the business end of a bolt.

One shot, then another. The ghosts are quickly closing the gap and there’s no cries of pain. He drops the crossbow and grabs the gun. Fuck the noise, it’s the stopping power he needs. Whatever’s coming isn’t going to be good.

He’s right. The shot sets the ghosts off but it’s all wrong. Suddenly there’s one in front of him, her fingers closing around his throat as she lifts him up. This is new. This is  _ bad _ . They can’t touch him, they can’t do shit outside of moan and groan if they can even see him. The fingers tighten and he’s trying to pry them off, but his fingers find no purchase in skin. It’s a woman. Older, her hair’s grey. She’s got lines and creases and a face that he imagines, once upon a time had been soft. _“We will not be killed”_ The words come out hushed, like a whisper. It doesn't sound like a threat. Not really. A simple fact if anything. Maybe a declaration. We will not be killed. That's what she said. 

His lungs start to burn and he starts to kick and claw. One last burst of energy as his vision begins to darken around the edges. The other ghosts are closing in on him, watching with grim features.

It’s all wrong. They can’t touch him.

There’s another yelp. It registers as his eyes begin to flutter shut. This time it’s a person, and it’s not the girl. The ghosts vanish and the hold on his throat fades and suddenly he can breathe again. The figure that had been in front of him morphed into something else. An actual person, in the midst of colliding with the ground. Dog’s found his bravery again and shaking their pant leg as if possessed by some sort of hellhound.

He doesn’t have time to be thankful for the cool night air – or to thank whatever higher power sent the mutt his way. Daryl manages to grab his gun just as the stranger quicks free from Dog’s bite.

“Don’t fucking move.” It’s not a suggestion, it’s an unspoken promise. He’ll blow their fucking head off before they have a chance to do that again. Whatever the fuck that was.

They’ve got a gun, too. Which he’s quick to kick to the side. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m here for the girl.” Is all he can make out in between the panting and the cursing. With a flick of his wrist Dog lets go but doesn’t back off. Staying still like a statue, ready to strike again if their assailant so much as flinched. The ghosts that seemed to have flooded the area mere seconds ago, nowhere. He couldn’t even feel them. 

“The fuck does that mean?” He tries not to wince. His blood is running hot and he knows it sound like a stupid fucking question but people these days...well people were always a little fucked up but now? 

They don’t respond. Not to him, anyway. Which only ticks him off a bit. “Di? Are you okay?” 

She croaks a response as she tries, and fails to stand up only a handful of feet away. “I-I’m okay…”

“We ran into a herd, walkers. A couple dozen - it was just the two of us.” The words come tumbling out fast like they’re worried he’ll decide to pull the trigger if they stall for even just one second. “Tried to cross this shitty old bridge and it just…I’ve been running all night. I figured if she wound up in the water I’d find her somewhere along the river.” River went on for miles and that logic stood. But a small herd? Old bridge? 

Wasn’t even the only thing that tugged at the edges of his memory. 

Running all night.

“M’names Kellan, that’s Diana.” He didn’t give a shit who they were. That didn’t really matter.

“You got any other weapons?” 

The shadowy figure on the ground adjusts, reaching a shaking hand towards sole bootleg Dog hadn’t unleashed his wrath on. “Hunting knife, I was traveling light.” The pant leg comes up and freezes. It’s an invitation, he sees. Daryl can’t decide if it’s dumb or not. Maybe if it’d been anyone else. Someone other than him. Who the fuck gave up all their shit without a fight? “Look, I don’t want any trouble I just...I’m here for Di, that’s it. Keep my fucking gun if you want, just let us go.”

There’s a certain and unmissable desperation in their voice. If nothing else it’s genuine. Trading their sole gun for a kid? “Fuckin’ take her.” He lowers the gun slowly. “Fuckin’ ran away anyway.” He adds under his breath.

“Kell, are you hurt?” The kid’s at their side now. Kellan grunts, using a stump to try and pull themselves upwards. They aren’t quite on both legs before they let out another slew of curses. “You are hurt.” 

“Just a little.” Kellan tries again to pull themselves up, succeeding this time but it’s awkward as all hell to watch. He has half a mind to lend a hand, but thinks better of it. “You got any bandages, friend?” 

Immediately he knows why they’re asking. In the moonlight he can see the slick black, up against the incredibly pale skin where Dog’s teeth had done their work. They didn’t have a pack, not that he could see. The coat they were wearing didn’t look like it could so much as hold a pack of smokes let alone a first aid kit. 

“Yeah. Come on.”

The two strangers come together wordlessly. Kellan slips an arm over the younger girl's shoulder and there’s an unmistakable familiarity in the action. He’d found her people, or rather they’d found her. That was something - wasn’t it? Wasn’t gonna get stuck with another fucking kid, out in the middle of nowhere. Daryl winces at the thought. He silently scolds himself as he picks up the abandoned firearm. This isn’t fucking like that. 

It’s wasn’t anything like that. Wasn't anything like Beth. They weren't anything like him and Beth. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl brings both strangers back to camp to tend to Kellan's wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again. I hope you're all doing well, or doing the best you can. To those who celebrate I hope you the holidays were good to you. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for being here and taking the time to read this. I am continuing the story ( I messed up while editing on my iPad last time- which led to it looking like this was ending at 2 chapters. It's not over!) and I am also still working diligently on WDWG. So don't worry that WILL be updated as well. 
> 
> We learn a bit about Kellan in this chapter. Their entire character is based off a musical if you can believe it. It's called Come From Away and I highly recommend giving it a listen if you're into musicals- or looking up the story of Gander, Newfoundland! I take some lines from lyrics the musical here, as words the ghosts 'say' to Daryl. Those lines in particular are so poignant to me. I wanted to write a character who was so truly loved and involved in those around them, a small town seemed like the perfect setting. Kellan was born while doing a listen of ' Welcome to the Rock' at 3AM some time ago. 
> 
> This isn't beta'd. Any mistakes are my own.

_ Running all night. _

He wasn’t about to claim to be the best judge of character, he didn’t possess the ability to judge a person's true character from a simple interaction - didn’t stop him from trying though. The more strangers words replayed in his head as they hobbled their way back to his encampment the more and more sure he became that they were genuine. 

They’d given up their weapons. _ All  _ of them without hesitation. He’s pretty sure he could’ve demanded to search them himself and they would’ve stood there and let him. In fact, he was pretty sure the girl was more of a problem. More likely to hurt somebody. Which was funny given the ghosts.

Or whatever they were.

They followed them as they walked, fading in and out of existence every so often. They didn’t come near him. Which Daryl was no doubt thankful for. He had no explanation for what had. He was certain it had been the spirits - or whatever they were which had thrown him up against the tree. Still doesn’t make sense, how one had almost choked the life out of him. He was sure it had been one of them. That had never happened before. They’d never been able to touch them before. 

“Where’d you find her?” Kellan asks breathlessly as they finally reach the perimeter fence. It’s the first time either of them had addressed him since they’d started walking. Mostly, they were muttering against themselves. He heard the girl ask about some other people. How was so-and-so, did any of their gear make it. Wasn’t particularly interesting or alarming. Even Merle got bored after away. Fading away to wherever the fuck it was that he went after deciding the excitement was over. 

  
  


Daryl flaps his hand towards the river, throwing a glance over his shoulder. Kellan’s lips crease. “Right there?” He just shrugs. Why the fuck would he lie? “I didn’t know there were any camps along the river. Christ, what are the odds?” 

“Ain’t camps. Just me ‘an him.” He corrects as Dog settles in besides the fire. He doesn’t know what the odds were either. Didn’t know of many bridges beyond the one that Rick - he squashess the threat. The kid was alive, was how really important? No, he decided. It wasn’t.

  
  


“Guess you don’t really need people if you’ve got him, huh?” Kellan grunts as the girl awkwardly lowers them down onto a fallen log. He cringes a bit, almost feels like he outta apologize for Dog tearing a bit out of their leg. “Probably just doing his job though.” They murmur thoughtfully. 

Daryl clears his throat as he drops a new log onto the fire, watches as the sparks fly up into the night air. “Got bandages and some ointment.” 

Behind him he can hear Kellan curse softly as they roll their pant legs up. 

“Are you okay?” Diana asks again.

“You got anything I can stitch up with?” 

**\---**

He in fact does. Not much, but the kit was well stocked enough he could take care of most injuries himself. Most. Dog had done a number, wounds that would need more than tightly wrapped gauze to help heal. He returns to Kellan with a small bundle in his hands, standing there awkwardly as they bow their heads and take in the supplies - as if deciding if he’s produced the necessary material. “Do you need-” Shaggy brown hair flies as they shake their head.

“I can do the dirty work. Might need you to hold the skin together though.” It’s not something he wants to do, but he guesses the girl won't likely be much help when it comes to tending the injured. Given the fact that he’s absolutely positive now that she can’t see a goddamn thing. 

Daryl really doesn’t fucking want to, doesn’t like _ touching _ people. He understands the importance of the task, better to close it up right once. So he crouches as Kellan’s fingers carefully pull up their pant leg about as far as it can go. It takes about five seconds for him to notice how they go about it. Sterilizing the needle in the fire, carefully threading it. Biting their tongue as they clean up the blood with the bit of alcohol he’s got for just such an occasion. Still, maybe not so practiced. Their hands shake hard as they try to thread the needle. He almost offers to help. Almost. 

They accomplish it. Diana stares at them, head twitching with every little grunt and curse. As if she’s keeping a watchful eye out over the progress. 

Kellan takes a deep breath, shoving their sleeves up over their arms. “This is gonna fuckin’ suck.” Daryl grunts. Their hands are shaking and there’s a second where again, he considers offering his help. Not that he’s an expert but he can close a wound - he ain’t stupid. Doesn’t get a chance to. One of the ghosts whom had been milling around camp suddenly appears, sitting on the log behind Kellan and Diana. He tries not to move, not to even acknowledge it. Doesn’t stop his heart from thudding in his chest. The spirit reaches down, their hand disappearing into Kellan’s. Instantly, the shaking fingers still. 

He can’t help how the hair on the back of his neck stands at the sight. He wants to ask. It’s so fucking tempting. Do they know? Are they like him? Can they see the fucking ghost? He doesn’t think so. They don’t so much as glance at it. Not even the slightest recognition. Which is amazing giving the fact the things arm had melded with theirs, and as far as he could tell was the only reason they weren’t shaking like a leaf. 

It’s funny how quickly the ghost isn’t even the most interesting, or puzzling thing around the campfire. He squeezes the skin as Kellan orders him to, trying not to look at the wound or at the ghost. It’s easy, something else quickly cuts into his field of view. The fire had eaten away at the log by this point, as Kellan’s carefully pressing the needle into the raw edges off the gaping wound. Given him more than enough light to take in the sight.

They’ve got bold outlines on their arms. Both sides. Not the neatest, clean enough for him to make it out. They look a hell of a lot like wings. Like on the girl, but these look infinitely more permanent. They’re big. From the wrist down past the elbow on both sides. Bold lines swooping and curving into the familiar shape he’d seen most his adult life. The shape he wore. Sent a shiver down his spine. “Those uh-” He nods dumbly, unable to find the words. Suddenly ‘wings’ doesn’t even exist in his vocabulary. Kellan glances up at him, cocking their head to the side questioningly. Daryl glances down. It takes a second before Kellan goes back to work.

“The tattoo? Yeah. It’s um...a bunch of us have them.” A pause “ _ Had _ them” It’s a thing we do, how we can identify ourselves. If something happens then we know what bodies to give a proper burial and…” Kellan’s words trail off as their gaze finds the fire. 

  
  


“Not everyone has wings. It’s like a last name. They’re all different.” Diana pipes in quietly, turning her head right towards him in a way that really fucking unsettles him. Like she can see straight through him. 

“She’s got them too,” Kellan adds with a shaky breath. “Just not permanent. We draw hers on, when she’s older she can get them like this.” 

Diana scoffs “It won't be a tattoo. Dad said I’d probably get an infection and die.” 

“Your dad is over dramatic. Mine was fine. Besides, his way hurts _ a hell of a lot more _ .” 

In case he still had any reservations about whether or not they were part of the same group, or even knew each other, they were quickly dispelled. They talked like siblings. Like they’d known each other all their lives, despite the obvious age difference. 

“It’s a family thing.” He says quietly. Like the vest. It had been Merle’s, then the dumbass had gone and gotten himself killed. It had been his since. 

Kellan nods. “Yeah. I didn’t pick it though. Sort of got...adopted into it. My real family isn’t - ” 

_ Alive _ . The look in their eyes says alive.

The words that leave their lips are different though. “From here. I tried to get back to them in the beginning but I couldn’t get back…” The words trail again. The ghost who had been staring diligently at Kellan’s hands looks up suddenly, sad eyes trained right on him.

“Tried to sail back with a friend. I was visiting my cousin, I’m from Canada. Really remote town in Newfoundland - you’ve probably never heard of it - It uh, didn’t work.” There’s a hitch in their throat that they quickly try to reign themselves in, trying to bury whatever the words bring up. “Couldn’t get back.” Kellan adds softly. “Got this on the way.” Their eyes dip down, following their gaze. He can see the bite in the middle of one of the wings.

When he looks back up they’re surrounded again. He can’t see past them, it almost makes him claustrophobic. His grip on Kellan’s legs tighten and he forces an awkward apology. They took him off guard. There’s a dozen, maybe more. Too many faces. Some have hands reassuringly placed on Kellan’s arms, head. Some look like they’re crying. The man sitting on the log reaches over and presses a palm to his shoulder. Daryl can’t move, there’s a sudden jolt that runs through him and suddenly it feels like he’s falling. All around him he can hear wind, the sound of waves crashing. Terrified cries, disjointed pleas. He can see a stormy coastline, bodies and debris strewn about in the water. 

Walkers on the shore. Blood stained rocks. 

Then he sees Kellan, laying on the bank just like the girl had been. He can feel the fear, pain, confusing. Everything all at once and he desperately wants to cry out but he realizes that he can’t force the sound past his lips. Somewhere a voice, strong and determined cries out _‘We will not be drowned.’_ Just like that it all changes. The falling feeling stops. And he can see Diana again, laying on the bank of the river. He jerks his hand away from Kellan, and all the sudden the image breaks. The sounds of the ocean angry and cold vanish, the ghosts do too. Everyone except for the man on the log, who had since turned his attention back to half-sewn wound. 

“Jesus, you okay?” Kellan asks cautiously. “You’re pale.” Completely oblivious to everything. They didn’t know. He could tell. Probably would have offered an explanation as to why the fuck they’d just been surrounded by a small crowd. By their family. He was sure of it. The people they’d been trying to get back to. The town.

The realization crashes into him. That's who they were. That’s why there were so many. It was the whole fucking town. They were with him, somehow. He’s not sure how it works - far from an expert. Somehow they’d found them. Like Merle had come to him. He’d never seen so many before. 

That voice is in his head again. It’s one of them, he thinks. The woman who had choked the life out of him earlier. _ ‘To the ones who’ve left, you’re never truly gone.’  _

Kellan looks worried and he can see Diana tense up. “It’s nothing.” Daryl grunts as he squares his shoulders, trying to shake it off. The feeling of loss, sadness. The feeling of a dozen people watching them - watching him. 

“Was it the story? I have people. I wasn’t alone for long...I’ve got this little shit.” They lean over and nudge Diana with a shoulder. “Her parents, whole group. It’s not as sad as it sounds.” 

Doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care. Though it does beg the question, if the ghosts were Kellan’s past, where were the group they were with now? All the other people who supposedly had wings on their person. 

Fuck - the thought of being surrounded by the living and breathing isn’t any more comforting or any better than being surrounded by the ghosts. 

**\---**

They finish the sutures in silence. He can’t get away from the fire fast enough once they’re done. Diana had complained about being hungry, he takes the excuse to vanish into his tent for a few precious moments to collect himself before returning to the fire with some jerky, half a loaf of stale bread and some water. 

The ghosts were gone now, even the one who had been holding Kellan’s hand while they carefully stitched the wound.

“Where’s the rest of your group?” 

It’s a question that breaks the silence, and seems to catch both off guard. It’s one he needs to ask. 

“We lost some people out hunting a few weeks back. Figured out where they might have wound up. Her parents and a couple others went to go get ‘em back” Had anyone new shown up? He tries to think, to do a mental inventory off every goddamn person he’s seen in the last couple of weeks. “We were supposed to meet up with them with supplies - but then someone ran off. Like a moron.” Kellan adds with a pointed glare. 

Daryl blinks dumbly. Ran off? She was blind, wasn’t she? How the hell could she have gotten far, or survived on her own? He’d seen the bite mark - but she couldn’t actually see, could she? 

“They’ve been gone too long. They’ve never been late. _ Ever. _ “ Diana bites back defiantly, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest. “Something is wrong! You weren’t listening, I was going to find them - “

Kellan held one bloodied hand up. “No, you were going to get yourself lost. Or killed, which you almost accomplished so congratulations. Your parents would’ve hung me if I’d lost you.” 

“If they came back.” The teenager adds darkly. This changes the expression on Kellan’s face from exasperation to something Daryl can’t read. It’s more severe, the air around them seems to shift and grow thicker. 

“They’ll be back.” 

He’s not sure what he’s stepped in the middle of and quite frankly. He doesn’t care enough to press. Instead, he wordlessly offers half the now crusty loaf to Kellan. As if bread would somehow fix it, whatever it was. 

  
  


“They  _ always  _ come back.” Kellan turns to look at him, taking the bread from his hand. As if trying to reassure him, or themselves. That sort of what it sounds like. Like saying it outloud might just make it a reality - make it happen.

It doesn’t. Daryl thinks. It never worked like that for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lyrics used from the song 'Welcome to the Rock' from the Broadway musical hit, Come From Away. Lyrics written by Irene Sankoff and David Hein.
> 
> What did you guys think? If you get the chance and feel up to it please, please, leave me some feedback! I absolutely love reviews. I know I've not been the best at replying to them in the last update but I read (and gush) about all of them. I cannot tell you how much the reviews me to me in this day and age. 
> 
> Stay safe, be well, and I will see you all soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I'm nervous about this one. Let me know what you guys think if you can spare a few minutes to throw some thoughts my way!


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